


Draw A Picture, It'll Last Longer (AKA: Kisses & Compliments)

by Thementalistlover2013



Series: My Gift To Humanity (Or Rickyl/Richonne/Mickyl Fics) [5]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Art School, Badass Daryl, Boys In Love, Coffee Shop, Crush at First Sight, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Feels, Daryl In Love, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Library, M/M, No Apocalypse, POV Daryl, POV Rick, Rickyl, Shy Daryl, Shy Rick, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Still life, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Younger Rick, art work, nerdy rick, secretly nerdy daryl, sleepy rick, slightly older daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:02:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5367671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thementalistlover2013/pseuds/Thementalistlover2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl draws people without permission and Rick is kind of okay with it (especially when he's the subject).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hi, I'm Tired

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Cursing, M/M, author was sick while posting (somebody take my computer away immediately), etc. It's another Rickyl fic guys. You know how this goes.

~*~

Rick was tired.

Hell, he was _always_ tired. Tired wasn't even a temporary description anymore, college had wiped away his right to be anything _but_ tired.

His name wasn't Rick anymore, just _Tired_.

Going to college for art was something he'd always wanted to do, and he'd never let the fact that he'd come from a lower class family deter him from following his dream as a child.

Now, working two jobs and going to school, he felt the exact same passion stirring inside of him. Of course, it'd been dulled a bit, because, again. He was exhausted to _the_ core.

Who knew following your dreams could enervate you so much?

Seriously, it felt like gravity was working over time, pulling him closer to the ground. Maybe all of the bad things he'd done in childhood were finally catching up with him and Hell was making him suffer as dark forces yanked him under to face an eternal doom in a fiery pit. Or maybe Rick's eyes just happened to enjoy the scenery of nothingness when he closed them during exceptionally long blinks. Maybe he was physically attracted to soft and cushy inanimate objects, like his bed, or the beanbags in the school librar-

 _Library_ , Rick snapped out of his rampant thoughts, _that's where I need to go_.

The blue eyed boy peeled off his apron and hung it up, dazedly ending his shift at the local bakery before hightailing out.

He had some sle-

He had a bus to catch - _not sleep_ , never sleep, his name is Tired after all, he couldn't go against his being.

Library. Study. Exam Tuesday. _Then sleep_.

Rick nodded to himself, rubbing bloodshot eyes as he came up to the bus stop.

He'd be Rick soon enough.

~*~

　

　

 


	2. Chased

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daryl's being chased by his art project due date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few chapters are amongst the shortest I've ever managed to write, but I feel like it fits this story. Longer ones are in your future! I appreciate all of the readers so far! Thanks for stopping by. More to come!

~*~

Daryl had a project due, but unfortunately, his brain had decided to go on strike the day he needed inspiration most.

The day before the due date.

A still life piece shouldn't have been hard to formulate. _'Pick a scene, any scene! Extraordinary things are happening all around you! All you have to do is capture it.'_

Mrs. Heath, his overzealous art professor, had made it sound easy two weeks ago.

Daryl wasn't going to stress though, because stressing only made him more frantic, and panicking wasn't going to help his cause.

No, he'd have to go to an exhibit, or read something, because nothing 'extraordinary' was happening in his dorm room (unless you counted his roommate's constant masturbation from underneath the covers something praiseworthy). Daryl smirked, although it looked like a grimace, running a hand down his face as he imagined Mrs. Heath's reaction to something _that_ extraordinary.

The library was closer, and he could bring his sketch pad there to people watch.

Daryl slammed the door to his dorm as he left, disturbing the moans that were once very prominent and transforming them into one high pitched yelp.

Now _that_ was extraordinary.

~*~

 


	3. Still In Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick fell asleep and Daryl's a wanderer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter because you deserve it. Have a nice rest of the day, you beautiful creature you. Also I'm a fifteen y/o impatient girl who is home sick with nothing to do but post the chapters to a story I've already finished - did I mention I'm impatient? I hope none of you get sick this holiday season! Cheers to health. Because my weekend was bloody hell.

~*~

Rick plopped into his favorite beanbag chair, pulling his wool pea coat closer to his body and yanking his text book from his bag. He crossed his ankles, snuggling into the cushion and flipping through the pages.

The words were swimming before him already, and he hadn't even made it past a page.

Jack Stewart and the graffiti movement of the 1970's suddenly became far less appealing than the imagery behind his eyelids, and within seconds, Rick found himself shimmying down into his coat.

He imagined dirty subways littered with graffiti before he closed his eyes for good, dozing beneath a warm window, shielded by a wall of books.

~*~

Daryl hadn't been so enamored with someone's face before in his entire life.

He'd been minding his own business, _really_ , and whilst venturing deeper into the maze of books he had managed to come across something - rather, _someone_.

He was a bit younger than Daryl, probably twenty or so. His hair was short and curly, a deep brown color with stray locks reaching out - calling to Daryl. His eyes were shut, his expression peaceful, as if he were meditating. His nose was long and prominent but perfectly suited to his handsome face, and his lips were no different, plump and salmon. His jawline was sharp and clean shaven. All in all, he looked like the atypical good-boy college freshmen.

If he hadn't known better, Daryl would've thought he'd been a frat boy - he was _definitely_ pretty enough.

The art history book and the lack of alpha-beta-jackoff appearance told Daryl that this guy wasn't some sexed up asshole. None of the frat boys here would be caught in a library unless they were chasing some tail or it involved their infamous hazing rituals..

No, this boy was different, and very, very _still_.

Daryl pulled out a chair from the nearest table and sat down, grabbing his sketchpad and flipping to an empty page.

He gnawed on his lip, hoping the guy wouldn't move anytime soon; it _was_ called a still life after all, and it looked like Daryl's brain had finally put down the picket signs.

~*~

　

 


	4. Beanbags & Wallet Chains Are Mighty Forces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Encounter (yes, it deserves capitalization).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I was chillaxing in the ER, but I've got meds now. I appreciate your patience, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and comments/reviews! Thank you. (:  
> EDIT: LONGER CHAPTERS AHEAD, I KNOW I'VE BEEN PROMISING BUT THIS IS THE TRUTH UNLESS I MANAGED TO HALLUCINATE THE WHOLE WRITING AN ENTIRE MULTI-CHAPTER STORY IN TWO HOURS WHILST UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF MULTIPLE (LEGAL) MEDICATIONS. Also, three(?) more chapters to go!  
> Do me a favor and have a great life. Okay? Okay.  
> Until next time - meaning tomorrow.

~*~

Rick had never been a heavy sleeper.

That'd never been an issue until now, of course.

The library was quieter than any place on campus. At least, it had been.

Rick awoke to a familiar sound, one of which he'd been guilty of creating on more than one occasion.

Someone was drawing. Rick could hear the sound of a person's wrist brushing against paper frantically, could smell a faint charcoal piece near, the smell of perspiring hands, the sound of a tongue clicking against the roof of a mouth. Calm and deep breaths filtered through the air, and the smell of leather and sandalwood permeated the area around him.

Whoever was drawing was very, _very_ close.

So close that Rick could smell the coffee on their breath with every exhale, could feel the body heat coming off of the person directly in front of him.

Rick opened his eyes, only to be hit in the face with a sketch pad.

"Holy shit. _Ho-ly_ shit..." The perpetrator inhaled greedily, panicked, "'M sorry."

The voice was gravelly, and somehow it matched the scent of leather and sandalwood that Rick had smelt moments before.

"What in the world?" Rick asked slowly, rubbing his eyes and scrunching up his nose. He took in his surroundings, the older boy in front of him with long hair, combat boots, and a _fucking_ wallet chain - who knew that was still a thing? Finally he looked down at the weapon of choice and his eyes widened.

It was... _him_. He was on the paper, sitting in the beanbag, nearly completely drawn, charcoal lines mapping out every detail of his body and immediate surroundings.

With all of the confidence Rick could muster, he looked up at the boy above him, who had an arm outreached (whether he was offering a hand or attempting to yank back his work, Rick couldn't of known).

Eventually, Rick managed to whisper out an 'Okay' over the pounding of his heartbeat.

"Okay, um, Okay?" The other boy replied, looking confused and somewhat embarrassed; not as embarrassed as Rick would've been if he was _caught drawing a stranger without permission._

"Yeah." Rick sighed, running a hand down his face. Suddenly he wasn't Tired. Just _Rick_ with a slightly frazzled brain and a sore face; Oh how the real world could catch up to you. " _Okay_."

~*~

　

 


	5. Peacoats and Starbucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick isn't scared per say, and Daryl? Daryl's just happy that he hasn't run off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a little bit to this chapter five minutes ago - I felt like it was lacking. If there's any spelling/grammar, it's obviously my fault. I am my own Beta. Thanks for the lovely comments/kudos/support (I check them out in study hall whenever I get a notification and it always brightens my day). Expect my updates to be later in the day (at least, where I live - Central Time Zone peoples) because school and blah. But I WILL update every day that I'm able. There's two(?) more chapters left, I believe. Enjoy this chapter, and have a nice night/day/life! Thanks for visiting!

~*~

Daryl ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth inside of a two foot perimeter.

He'd been caught.

Caught drawing a boy, who, after the last three hours of staring at had become somewhat of a crush; He was just so _pretty_ , and of course he had to have bright blue eyes - Daryl's fucking _downfall_.

The subject of his hard work started to get up.

"Wait." The Daryl said, sounding urgent and maybe pleading, even if he hadn't intended to. "Jus' wait."

"For what 'xactly?" The other boy asked with his perfect lips. He smiled somewhat nervously (maybe even terrified) before remaining still, slumping back into the beanbag with a huff and a realization. "You're not done are ya?"

Daryl heaved a sigh of relief, thanking whoever had been watching over him that he hadn't scared the boy off, and that the blue eyed dozer could understand the whole artist thing; Daryl wouldn't of been able to sleep knowing he'd disturbed the pretty human and would've probably stared longingly at an unfinished (and therefore unworthy) sketch for the rest of his days.

The boy looked down at Daryl's handiwork, holding the sketch pad out to him after a minute of studying; Daryl noticed how skittish the boy was and wanted to grab his hand back.

_I won't hurt you._

Silence filled the air as Daryl sat back down, the other boy going back to his original position, blue puddles staring up at the ceiling, somewhat frightened - but not petrified enough to leave, which was a plus.

"Can ya? Can ya close your eyes please?" Daryl asked, watching a second later as his request was met. He began to finish the boy's eyelashes, little wisps of hair that swept over his cheeks, all of them perfect and in line; like soldiers ready for battle.

The real question was _what_ in the _actual_ _hell_ was Daryl doing holding a peer hostage?

~*~

Rick could understand the want to finish a drawing.

He just couldn't understand why or how _he_ had become the subject of said drawing.

It was frightening, and terrible; it'd probably end up being a joke, and when he opened his eyes the badass scruffy guy would be gone, leaving him alone, staring at the ceiling obliviously.

There wasn't anything spectacular about him, unless you asked his momma, then you'd get an earful about how handsome _and_ wholesome he was.

But this boy? This boot wearing, leather donned, intimidating _wallet chain_ wearer? What did he see in a guy like _him_? This guy didn't know anything about him; a guy who enjoys the park and pea coats and moccasins and those girly Starbuck's drinks.

Rick took one last peek. This guy didn't seem like the type, _his_ type. Rick was used to dating his textbooks and sometimes even a work of fiction. He was handsome though, and it was nice to imagine, nice to have caught the attention of someone.

Rick's eyelids flinched, and he hoped the other boy didn't catch it as he relaxed himself, settling back into the chair.

He should've been panicked, or freaked out, or _something_. Instead, Rick felt safe, admired even.

Before he could catch himself, he was falling back asleep.

~*~

　

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO I'M NOT SURE THE ENDING IS GOING TO BE SUFFICIENT ENOUGH FOR THOSE WHO MAY WANT MORE SO I WAS WONDERING IF ANYONE WANTED ME TO ATTEMPT - AND BOY DO I MEAN ATTEMPT - TO WORK ON SOMETHING? LIKE ONESHOTS OF THEM LEADING THEIR FLUFFY LIFE OR MAYBE THE STORY VENTURING OFF INTO THE APOCALYPSE (IFFY ABOUT THE LATTER). Let me know if anyone's interested! (:


	6. Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's hand crawled from it's cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was doing some thinking, and decided to set this in NY, because there's some fancy art schools, and the busy life kind of suited this. I don't even know, all that matters is Rick's pea coat. Okay? Okay. Also, I'd like to thank everyone for their suggestions and support. It means a lot! Here's your chapter - it's early because I'm procrastinating and avoiding all of my homework. I hope everyone who has finals this December kicks their asses, because YOU CAN! Also, I'm going to try and write a second installment to this over winter break.

~*~

Daryl had expected a plethora of reactions after he'd asked the boy _not_ to move, but he'd never even thought the boy would fall back asleep.

Like, snoring and _everything_.

He must've misunderstood and had taken Daryl's plea _literal_.

The tiny little huffs coming from his nose were rhythmic and calming, so much so that Daryl had watched him sleep for some time after he'd finished his project - creepy right? But even creepy Daryl couldn't, not without a guilty conscience, leave the boy here in the open so vulnerable.

Even _after_ he'd taken advantage of his unconsciousness to draw him without consent; Daryl wouldn't let anyone else do that, no one else got the privilege.

And by God, was it a privilege.

Daryl moved towards the body he'd become so familiar with - even if he hadn't even known the boy's name - and bent down, squatting a foot from the beanbag, almost scared to touch him.

_But you weren't scared to personally invade his space and use him for a grade, were you?_

Daryl shook his head. It was so much more than that, this connection he'd forged over the duration of four hours. It was akin to love at first sight, and Daryl would've titled it that too, if he had believed in labels _or_ love at first sight, of course.

He didn't believe in much, but this. Whatever _this_ was. It was more than a grade, more than some stupid still life project.

With that thought in mind, Daryl shook the other's shoulder, smiling as those pretty blue eyes peeked from a forest of eyelashes; like translucent ponds shadowed beneath trees and brush.

The boy looked around in confusion before nodding to himself, sitting up a bit and blinking the sleep from his eyes. He groaned, putting a hand to his face and blushing.

"I did it again." He looked around, gazing over the same books he'd fallen asleep next to. "'M sorry. Uh, how long was I out?"

"An hour an' a half." Daryl replied softly, running a hand through his hair. The other boy nodded again, looking up at him awkwardly; they were so close, their breaths mingled in the air together.

Daryl could count his fucking pores.

He wanted something more satisfying, he wanted to taste him, to lick his face, to bite his lips; he wanted contact, _needed_ it.

"Um, did ya get your drawin' done?"

There was a pause of silence, and Daryl realized he'd been staring. _Shake it off, Dixon._

"Yeah, I did." Daryl gestured towards it, gathering up every ounce of courage he'd ever collected in the time he'd lived on this Earth. "Listen, I was jus' noticing how tired you seem to be an' was wonderin' if you'd, if you'd want ta get some coffee, or somethin'. I could show you my drawin', if you want, I mea-"

"That, that sounds great..."

The boy paused, cocking a brown brow, looking into Daryl's eyes, a question in his own.

"Daryl. My name's Daryl."

"Rick."

_Rick_ , that was a nice name, an earnest, good country boy - undoubtedly from the South, no one spoke like that in New York. Daryl wanted to ask him about his life, his family, his hometown-

_One thing at a time, Dixon._

Daryl stood, holding out a hand to Rick, who took it with some hesitation. Daryl smiled, Rick hands were soft and warm, and even something as simple as touching hands was considered touching, so that pleased him.

They let go, and the detachment was clumsy and sweaty, but Rick laughed a little, a hearty sound, making everything worth it.

"Good to go?" Daryl asked, stepping towards the chair he'd been perched on, grabbing his sketch pad and shoving his other hand in his pocket. A billion thoughts ran through his head.

Does Rick know this is _kind of_ a date? Does he know I _like_ him? Like, _likelike_? Does he like me? Does he even _likelike_ me? Is he even into guys? Does he need help carrying his bag? Is he terrified and obliging to everything I say because he thinks I'm an evil New Yorker who would kick his sweet southern ass? Does he want me to be a gentleman? Does he want to hold my hand? Should I take my hand out of my pocket?

Rick stood, buttoning his pea coat - that fucking pea coat, ugh, Daryl wanted to squeeze him, he was so _cute_ \- and tightening the scarf around his neck; it was a chilly December night. He stood next to Daryl, smiling a little, a toothless grin, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"I'm ready when you are, Daryl."

Daryl's hand crawled from it's cave.

_I'm ready._

~*~

 


	7. The First Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's no longer Tired and Daryl's found his favorite type of art, because damn Still Life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER WOW. Okay, so I wrote this seven chapter story in two hours or so - once I start it's hard to stop. But, I just want to say this entire trip has become one of the best in my AO3 career (I haven't been here for a LONG time, just a while). This story really warms my heart, and I just wanted to post something positive before the holidays, so I hope you had a great time reading it. I'm going to start writing the second installment soon, which shouldn't take long, although the editing does - I get distracted easily and it's BORING. So prepare yourself for something soon, and again, thanks for the support!  
> P.S. I've got other Rickyl stories (along with other fandoms) if you'd like to read some other stuff to hold yourself over. Either way, have a great night! (:

~*~

"Wow, it's incredible." Rick complimented the drawing, blushing a moment after, "Not to sound vain or anythin'."

"Thank you." Daryl replied, even though he wanted to reach across the booth they were sitting at and grab Rick, shaking him as he littered him with compliments and kisses; somehow Daryl could sense the low self esteem surrounding Rick, the hesitance.

In all actuality he deserved every drawing, every compliment, every _thing_. Daryl couldn't put into words how much he enjoyed being around him, how much he enjoyed the person that was him.

So he drew it.

The piece was on thick white paper, now grey and dingy from his sweaty palms and the spread of charcoal. Rick was the centerpiece, surrounded by sunlight that had come through the windows. Books were to his sides, and you could see the serenity in the picture. His lips were slightly parted, cheeks flushed, forehead smooth and plain. Rays of light hit his face, marking it with perfectly spaced rivets, all of which were as geometrically sound as the boy's face - really, if beauty was symmetry, Rick won. Daryl glanced from the picture and back up to the muse's face, shaking his head; Daryl didn't know why his heart did funny things around Rick, or how he sweated more than usual, his limbs almost always shaky and numb.

He only knew that he had fallen in love with art at a very young age, and now, Rick was his _favorite_ kind of art.

"What're you goin' to do with it?" Rick asked suddenly, sipping some of his loco moco coco capiccino - Daryl hadn't really understood what it was called, but he'd memorized it's place on the menu for future occasions (and how Rick's lips wrapped around that mug, how his bony knuckles curved around it, his breath blowing the steam towards Daryl, who sucked it up greedily - it was another drawing for another time).

"It's for a project in Mrs. Heath's class. Still life."

Rick nodded once, brow furrowed.

"But, why'd ya pick _me?"_ Daryl noted how surprised he sounded, how shocked he was towards the notion that someone thought he was great enough to be immortalized in a piece of art. "I mean, there are plenty-"

"You're... _you_."

Rick sputtered immediately, mouth parted, inviting even.

Daryl could spot an opening when it was right in front of him, so he scooted their coffees over to the side before taking Rick's chin in one calloused hand, wrapping the other over the length of his cheek. Rick didn't pull away, so Daryl only pulled closer.

To quote Mrs. Heath, " _Extraordinary things are happening all around you! All you have to do is capture it."_

And capture it he did. They kissed, and it wasn't an explosion or the sound of fireworks, no, it was something real, something deep in his gut that burned like a flame. He kept his eyes open, just to watch how Rick's eye lashes fluttered against his cheek, how all of the lines in his face smoothed, as if he were completely content; just as Daryl felt, kissing a boy he'd never known before, a stranger by the name of Rick that he had felt he'd known for a lifetime - that he would get to know for a lifetime.

 _Extraordinary_.

 _That's_ what Rick was.

~*~

　

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget about the effort I put into this little fic! I would love some kudos/reviews to make me feel better! Thanks for reading so far! More to come! (:


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